Mile High Club
by calamityxcooper
Summary: Bella Swan is a very unsatisfied airline hostess - in many ways. What happens when she meets the gorgeous - yet possibly gay - Edward Cullen? Sparks fly, thats what. Warning: very suggestive, and language. May become an M fic later on.
1. Please, I Need Aspirin

The plane drew in, the pressure was immense and – worst of all – the passengers were becoming restless.

'Please remain in your seats for the duration of the landing. We will shortly be arriving in New York. We thank you for your co-operation and appreciate you choosing to fly on Consolidated Airlines.'

I was exasperated. My dream job of becoming an airline hostess had turned out to be less than ideal – so much for my free travel, wonderful experience, and actually being paid to have a good time. No, it was only senile, perverted old men and bitchy business class.

Three long months of constant travel and never-ending jetlag had made me a complete pessimist, and I was ecstatic at the thought of two whole weeks spent in the comfort of my family home; mum would make cookies, I would eat them and have a great time. Then go back and kill myself at the gym to meet the "physical requirements" of the job. My boss is, of course, a man.

I took a deep breath, felt my diaphragm expand to the point of combustion, then exhaled loudly, much to the obvious chagrin of one of the old ladies in economy who that that they were all that.

'Excuse me, hostess person, it would be appreciated if you did not breathe all over me' said the grandmother, with obvious distaste in her voice, and a look dirty enough to justify an Ajax advertisement. Hey, it would save me the job.

'My apologies, ma'am, I will ensure to breathe to your exacting standards in the future'. This comment was made, of course, with the smile you would expect of someone who is paid – however poorly – to do so.

I began the countdown. Five minutes. Another stupid kid screaming his bloody head off, I must go to comfort him. What do mothers do nowadays?

Three minutes. Yes ma'am, it is too late to order the steak. The meal was offered to you three hours ago, you will just have to arrange something for yourself once we land.

One never-ending minute left. 'Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare to land. We hope you have enjoyed your flight and thank you again for flying Consolidated.' And it is over.

All I had to do now was collect my bags and get on the midnight flight to Connecticut. Bags, bags. Where for art thou dearest bags? The loudspeaker answered that.

'Attention ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry to report that all baggage from flight 309 Sydney to New York has been lost in flight. We apologise for any inconveniences caused by this. We will have the baggage available at 12:45 am'

Just what I needed; another hour waiting around to get a stupid bag – I would miss my flight and get home late and, oh dear god, people would come complaining to me.

It seemed to happen all at once; at first I was just another person put out by stupid weather and disorganisation. Then, I became the target for all of the anger that people held, just because I was in uniform.

'Why aren't you more organised?'

'How long will this take, lady?'

'Do you know how much this stuffs me around?'

I couldn't deal with this right now. I was exhausted, looked shocking, and – worst of all – hadn't so much as kissed a guy in about six months.

'Listen people, this lady cannot help you as she is obviously not working at the moment. Please, just give her some space – she can't help you, so why make life hard for her?' He was gorgeous, a complete gentleman, and he had saved me from the evil angry customers.

'Thanks so much. You have no idea how much I have to put up with when I am actually on duty'. My laugh was forced, and I hadn't moved from my "forced smile look", but I think he got the message. Well, at least he didn't run away or just ignore me.

'Oh, I think I could imagine. I used to work for Air New York, but I recently got a job as a photographer for Vogue'. Great, he was gorgeous, and gay. I mean, how could he not be? He was a fashion photographer who worked as an airline hostess . . . or host.

'Wow, sounds cool. How long have you had the gig for?' And so my wonderful-yet-never-truly-satisfying-seeing-as-I-know-that-he-can't-satisfy-me-in-a-way-that-I-need-to-be-satisfied-in conversation began.

'How about we go to the bar? You look like you could use an apple martini to get your mind off your, let me guess, aching feet.' How considerate was that? But of course he had to suggest a completely gay drink, I mean, couldn't he give me at least something to hope for?

'Sounds amazing and you got the foot thing right. Seventeen hours in heels is torture. One thing, though, I am more of beer type girl; my dad taught me well.' Oh dear god, please make him laugh. And he did.

'Sounds great. One thing, though, I am meeting up with a mate, so if you have, like, Asperger's, it may not work out too well . . .'

'Oh, so you're a comedian too, eh? Well, never you worry, I have no kind of social disorder or any form of autism, so you are most certainly covered Mr. . . . '

'Mr. Edward Cullen. And you are . . ?'

'Miss Bella Swan.'

And so we drank and talked about sports and girls and fashion and airlines and the general incompetence of society. It was approaching two in the morning, and I was beginning to wonder where the mystery mate was. I was also wondering when the bloody plane would be ready, although that thought had lessened significantly on my list of priorities as I skimmed Edward's body. There is no problem in looking, even though I can't touch.

I took a final swig of lager and began to order another one as I saw a man walking towards us. He was about as gorgeous as the better looking cousin of George Clooney and Brad Pitt, so I nearly had a heart attack as he seemed to smile at me. But then I heard Edward say hi, as he began to introduce me to Mr. Sexy Mystery Man. Why does the lord have to be such a damn tease? Honest to god, every single good looking man is either gay or taken. Actually, any man who wasn't a serial killer was either gay or taken.

'Bella, this is my, erm, good friend Emmett. Emmett, this is Bella, the dashing young airline assistant who I so graciously rescued from an angry mob.' I punched him, only lightly, though. In a kind of mates-watching-the-footy-and-drinking-beer way. Hey, if I wasn't going to get laid, I may as well make a friend.

'Hi Bella, it is a pleasure to meet you' his sincerity made me blush. No, trust me, the _pleasure_ is all mine.

Unwillingly, a large yawn escaped my mouth, and I began to feel that kind of tired that can only go away with a long sleep.

'Aw, look here, little Bella is sleepy', a grinning Emmett teased.

'Am not.' Cue looks of disbelief. 'Ok, maybe just a little'.

I was now really beginning to wonder where my bags were, and also what I would do for the night if I wasn't flying.

_Ladies and Gentlemen the missing baggage from flight 609 Sydney to New York has not been recovered as of yet. We do apologise sincerely for any inconveniences caused by this. Please acknowledge that you baggage will be returned to you tomorrow morning at 9 am. Again, Consolidated apologises for any inconveniences caused by this . . . . _

I was going to end with _complete and utter incompetence_, but I figured that I should at least pretend to be at least somewhat committed to my job.

'Ah fuck. Where am I going to stay?' I whined, half to myself, half to those around me who may be able to offer accommodation. Wink, wink.

'I am wondering the same thing, Miss Bella' a grinning Emmett said. 'Maybe we will just have to spend the night out'. A mighty fine suggestion, but I was just so incredibly tired. Alcohol hadn't worked, and neither had being incredibly horny – two things which always managed to get me up and going. Alas, my countenance betrayed my true emotion.

'Bella is much too tired, I think' Edward said, possibly conveying a tinge of sadness? Maybe? Or was I being overly optimistic to combat my former pessimism.

'Of course I am not too tired. Besides, this is New York at Thanksgiving – I don't think that we will be able to find a place to stay easily. And this is New York – we should be partying!' I replied, with a tad too much enthusiasm; it sounded it sounded too much like my work voice. Nevertheless, Emmett chuckled and picked me up, beer and all.

'It sounds like a bloody good plan to me.' He said as he carried me, pathetically fighting back, out the door, followed closely by a chuckling Edward.

Oh, we were most definitely beginning a night to remember.

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**Thanks ******

**xcooper**


	2. Sensory Overload

New York City is a truly amazing place, and when it is a Friday night (or Saturday morning), and you are drunk out of your mind, everything is even more incredible. The lights sparkled and danced like little fairies, the skyline reminded me of a castle. It was with these thoughts that I realised I was _really_ drunk. And what is better for a drunken idiot than fatty fast food? Nothing!

'C'mon guys, lets go and get Maccas!' I shrilled, my voice taken up a few octaves due to a high level of intoxication, and the wonderful excitement induced from the thought of a Big Mac. This is what happens when you have spent too many months on a diet consisting of celery and lettuce. I was salivating already.

As we walked into the store, my eyes widened in awe; this was not the kind of cheap, dirty chain we had where I come from, oh no, this was up market. Well, as up market as it could be considering that the food wasn't organic, macrobiotic or some other obscure-diet type. The walls had this freaky-yet-cool pattern on them and swivel seats. The all round effect gave me the idea that I was completely stoned, but I liked it. I supposed I was only a few hours off literally being stoned anyway, so I thought that I should get some practice in.

I ordered . . . well, I don't know what I ordered, but let me tell you – it was good with a capital G.

'You're not afraid to down a burger, Bella' Edward said, somewhat impressed.

'Humfffelph' was my eloquent reply, with a mouth full of animal by-products and plastic cheese.

'Are you not afraid that your ass will grow into a house, or that you are disturbing your body's delicate hormonal balance or something rather?' Emmett teased, his face lighting up with laughter.

I swallowed my bite in one impressive go, then artfully wiped my mouth; I am, after all, a lady. 'I am not into hormone bullshit – aside from the ones that get me horny – and I am not concerned by the banal constraints society puts on beauty'.

'Well said, Bella. Anyway – your ass is one of the finest I have ever seen.' Edward complimented me, and I, well, I responded in a very physical way. The power of words is amazing. Also, the comment gave me hope that maybe he wasn't gay. Frankly, I was gobsmacked and reduced to silence for a few moments.

That left room for the local prostitutes to launch their attack. Two of them came over to our bench; their pleather skirts so short, I swear I could see their ovaries.

'Hi', they drawled, raking their plastic fingernails over Edwards's cheekbones, leaning over him to further expose their boobs into his face.

'We were wondering if you would like to help us out. You see, we are in need of a good fuck, and wondering if you wanted to go three-way with us'.

Well, you cannot say that they beat around the bush.

'Um, thanks for the offer ladies, but I will have to decline. I am sure that there are plenty of guys around here who would be happy to take part.' Edward said, his eyes almost dismissive they were so apathetic.

'Like me, girls, I would love to help!' Emmett wailed desperately after the quickly departing girls. And with the girls left my minute hopes that Edward wasn't gay. Seriously, what guy says no to a ménage a trois with some NYC sluts? I mean, one could pass it off as him being a gentleman in front of a lady, but not when he was as drunk as he was. No right-minded heterosexual male would say no to that. Damn, now he was either gay or a psychopath. Why is it that I can never be attracted to the right guys? I think I need an intensive session with Dr. Phil.

'Shit, Edward. Why did you have to send them off like that? I would gladly have had them!' Emmett said, genuinely puzzled.

'Because I can always come back to a cheap night with some hookers, but I will never be in this exact moment with both of you ever again' Edward reflected, his eyes gazing over me in a strange and unnerving way. His words – those bloody words again – made me melt; he was such a poet. I would gladly be his muse.

'Well, that is all very lovely, Eddy, but now that I am all horny with no place to go, I propose that we try that dance club we have been hearing about.' Emmett said, with renewed enthusiasm.

'What are you talking about? I haven't heard of any new club' I stated, looking puzzled, I am quite sure.

Cue an aghast look from Emmett, and a – slightly less reactive – surprised look from Edward. 'How have you never heard of Dash? Rosalie Hale owns the place, so it was instantly _the_ place to go.' Emmett recites as if he was writing a thesis on the subject, and looks like he is about to faint when I ask who Rosalie Hale is.

'She is God's answer to my prayers; she is the sun that illuminates my morning coffee, the snow that falls gently on my window-sill . . .'

'The pictures he wanks to' Edward finishes for the mesmerised Emmett with an incredulous look on his face. I giggle, then wave my hand in Emmett's face to get him back to reality.

'I never thought you would be one to get caught up in someone like that. But I still don't get who she is. How do you know her?' I ask.

'Emmett doesn't know her. Her just ensures to see every Badass film, and then pretends that it is him who she gyrates against to get her way. It is quite pathetic, really.' Edward explained to me, leaving Emmett looking murderous.

'I am not pathetic! And I do not need to wank to any picture, or wank at all for that matter. I have ladies lining up at my door for whenever I get randy.' Emmett retorted angrily, fuming at Edward.

'Ok. I don't particularly care for your love lives, so how about we check this place out?' I proposed, trying to defuse the situation. And shake myself out of my trance. I do so care about Edward's love life, especially as this stupid gay-or-not plot thickens. The tally for gay is dominating the not-gay one. Emmett likes anything with boobs, and even though I am assuming that Edward's standards are higher, what guy says no to hookers and gorgeous celebrities in the same night? A gay one, that's what.

---

I walked through the doors of the nightclub (ok, I stumbled a bit) and was immediately holed into a sensory overdrive; there were so many people, so many flashing lights and so much noise. I felt like I was going to faint at first, but I started to get right into it.

'Let's go into the middle' I yelled, my head pointed towards the throng of people on the dancefloor. My suggestion was greeted with two quizzical faces, and a 'WHAT?' Realising that there was no way that I could ever communicate verbally with them (it was so loud, I could feel my blood pounding with the beat), I simply grabbed their hands and pulled them in, twisting around to try and get past people.

And soon I was dancing, moving and gyrating to the music, being pushed by a million people around me, and without an inch of my body not being smothered by someone else. I loved it.

The night seemed to never end, and I literally could see nothing but fog and candy-coloured lights. But I felt. I felt some guy's hands all over my back, his legs against mine, and the denim of his jeans on my highly sensitive skin. I hope that I saw Edward wearing jeans.

**I am so happy to have finished this chapter! I am on holidays now, so I should be able to write more, which is good ******

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**calamityxcooper**


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